


A Lullaby For The Wounded

by JensonLevi



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Burns, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Criticism Welcome, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Persia, Until The Ribbon Breaks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 05:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10802436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JensonLevi/pseuds/JensonLevi
Summary: Haytham taking care of Connor.SongFic?





	A Lullaby For The Wounded

**Author's Note:**

> SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION!
> 
> Check out my original story: Calamity Zero.
> 
> https://www.wattpad.com/439380219-calamity-zero-prologue

The fire licked at his copper skin. His skin was slick with sweat, his body trying to cool itself. No matter how much he sweat, it was not enough. Blazing reds and blinding yellows singed the hair that dusted over the child's thin body. Amazingly, the mop of black hair that adorned his head was kept intact, although messy, knotted, and full of dirt.

From the blase, his dark brown eyes could make out a capped figure, it's teeth glinting in the fires light. It stepped through the flames, it's clothes carrying some of the flame after it. The flames clung onto the cotton of his cape, burning the ends. The fires light made it's face legible. Haytham Kenway, an important man, stood over the boy. His boot clad foot stepped down on the boys sweltering leg, forcing a cry from his lips. His leg was already blistering. Sweat and other fluids burst from the burn, coating the bottom of Haytham's boot.

"Now, now," Haytham's voice purred, "There is no need for that."

The boys eyes pricked with tears. The burning sensation on his skin, coupled with the pointed heal of his fathers boot was agonizing. He looked up at his father with hate filled eyes, his chest heaving as he tried to breath. His lungs could only fill with smoke. He coughed to try and clear the pollution from his lungs. With every gasp for air only made it worse.

Haytham slowly removed his foot from his child's scolded skin, slowly bending down to pick up his nude body from the dirt covered ground. The boy cried out again in both fear and un-measurable pain. His strong hands clung to the material of Haytham's cloths. The pain was so great that he felt like he was ready to pass out.

The older man carried his son away from the licking flames of the fallen building. He ignored the cries for help from the people. He was given one order, "Save our child." Haytham took the small boy to a nearby stream to cool the bubbling flesh of his legs and clear away the ash that clung to the child's sweaty skin. As the child's legs were submerged, his eyes rolled back, his body seizing at the sudden cold. His body kicked into over drive, trying to correct the sudden change in temperature. The small boy clung to his father, tears streaming down his sweaty cheeks. 

"That's it, I bet that feels better." Haytham cooed, trying to calm the fidgeting child.

The child sobbed in a language that Haytham had only heard once before. The child's legs were shaking violently. The once golden-copper skin was now red, bubbled and torn. 

Haytham slowly pulled the boy out of the water and onto the grass covered bank. He looked into the child's eyes to be sure he was okay. He pulled off his cape, tenderly patting the burns dry. The child cried out, small fists pulled out the tall grass from it's roots. "Father!" His child cried. Haytham worked quickly to crudely bandage his son's legs, not wanting him to be in any pain longer than he needed to be.

~*~

Haytham had taken his son in, bringing him to live in the city and renaming him Connor. With his copper skin, he could pass for a Spaniard. Several years had passed since the fire had burned down Connor's village to the ground, and he had not yet returned. His father had pampered him, having numerous doctors try to treat his legs, with no success. His legs were permanently scolded. The bottoms of his feet were amazingly not burned as well as his large portions of his knees, with only licks of white discoloration that stretched down from his ankles and around the side of his knees. The rest of his legs, up to his mid thigh were red, white and bumpy. Thankfully, at the age of fourteen, it was no longer as painful, but sometimes the constant bending of his knees could sometimes be a challenge.

It was late at night. The dark blue sky was illuminated with bright stars and a full moon, with storm clouds rolling in quickly in from the west. Connor, curious as ever, watched the sky from his bedroom window. He longed to go outside. He wanted to feel the eventual rain that would pat against his window pane against his skin, taste it on his tongue. He was hardly ever allowed to go outside. Haytham was... more than cautious with his son. He feared that he would be forced out of the city if someone was to see him or he would wander off and never return. He was also scared that he would be put into harms way and he would lose him.

When Haytham had taken Connor in, he had never imagined that he would grow attached to his child. The first few weeks were the hardest. He was constantly at his side, helping him sit up, move around the home, use the washroom. Naturally he would have had to, he was only four when he had decided to take care of him.

Haytham entered his child's bedroom, a candle guiding him through the halls. He had expected to see him fast asleep in his bed, the blankets pulled up to his chin, only to see him with his nose pressed against the cold glass, his breath fogging the glass, watching the thunder clouds roll in. The young teen smiled when he heard the familiar rumble of thunder and grew excited by the flash of lighting. He unlocked the window and leaned out, his hand reaching out to touch the cold droplets of water.

"Connor!" Haytham called, crossing the room quickly to pull the child back into the building. Connor glared, his lips curled in displeasure. "Never do that again!" Haytham fretted, touching his son's face to be sure he was alright.

"I just wanted to touch the rain..." He said softly.

"Why on Earth would you do something like that? Do you realize that you could have seriously injured yourself?" Haytham sighed, letting go of his son to close the window and draw the curtains shut. Connor only looked up from the corner of his sorrow filled eyes. "You need to get to sleep, your tutor will be here first thing in the morning."

Connor nodded obediently. He crawled into his bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin. "Father..."

"Yes, Connor?"

"Sing to me?"

"You are much too old for that." Haytham said, kissing his son's forehead before leaving the room.

Hours after he had fallen asleep, Haytham crept back to the entrance of his sons bedroom. His lips parted, singing softly. "It's still a whisper though a megaphone. It's not your volume, it's your tone. Those olive eyes are good enough to pick in winter time. So did I say too much, if that's my crime?"

~*~

Once Connor turned sixteen, Haytham allowed him freedom, with in reason. He could leave the house from the hours of nine am until twelve in the afternoon. Three hours of freedom. So much to do, so little time.

Often, Connor would just wander. He liked to watch the people, walk to the outskirts of the city, smell the fresh air, see the peeping animals from the tree line. At times, he would lay in tall grass a short distance from the road so people could not see him.

On one particular occasion, he was caught. A guard protecting a high-class lady had seen his dark hair in the tall grass. Connor watched the clouds, twisting the grass between his fingertips absent minded. The guard, did not care. The boy was too close to his ladies carriage for his liking. He promptly pulled the boy off of the ground, swinging at his face. His knuckles made contact with the tip of his cheek bone, knocking Connor onto the ground. He cupped his cheek to stop the stinging.

Before the guard could hit him again, Connor took off running. His legs ached, his skin stretching in ways it never had before. Connor was surprised at how well he could run.

By the time Connor returned home, his cheek and eye was bruised and swollen. Unfortunately, Haytham was already at the house, sitting in the living area, waiting for a very important guest. Once he heard the door open, his attention turned to Connor. His eyes widened and he launched himself to his son, cupping his chin to inspect the damage. He asked several questions, needing to know just who had harmed his son.

Haytham had coddled Connor for the rest of the day. When his guest had arrived, he turned them away. The high-statues lady was turned away, and was highly disregarded once Haytham had learned that it was her guard who had attacked his son.

Haytham had led Connor to bed, covering him with a thick blanket. Connor cuddled into the blankets. "Father?" He asked.

"Yes?"

"Sing to me."

Haytham sighed, about to refuse. But... He hadn't sang to him in so long. What is the harm in singing one more time? "I will zip, shut my mouth, won't forget about you. Just one more whisper, to see me through. Let's hush, hush. So Persia if you like me, then what's the fuss?"

Connor was asleep by the end of the first verse. Haytham smiled down weakly, brushing the boys long hair away from his face and kissed his forehead.

~*~

When he was eighteen, Connor and Haytham developed a new part to their relationship. Their connection was rather uncommon. The pair did not mind, only took care not to show such affections out in the public eye.

Connor clung to the side off the tub as Haytham washed his legs. He hated when Haytham cleaned them. He was so gentle with his sensitive skin, but, it made him feel hot and uncomfortable, and the water didn't help the over overwhelmingly warm feeling. Even when dry, Haytham would touch any part of Connor's legs and he would blush. His heart would skip a beat with ever stroke of Haytham's hand as it brushed a soft cloth over the burns. He did not trust the Connor would wash them properly.

"Father, please, enough." The skin of his legs was beginning to sting.

"Almost finished, Connor." Haytham replied. He dropped the cloth, massaging his legs lightly, barely touching them.

"Father, it hurts." Connor whimpered. 

Haytham nodded softly, letting go of Connor's leg gently. He rose to grab a towel for the younger man to dry himself off. Connor pulled himself out of the tub. Droplets of heated water dripping down his toned body. He took the towel from his father and wrapped it around his hips. 

Connor entered their shared room, rummaging through their dresser to find something to sleep in. Haytham came behind him, wrapping his arms around the boys middle. His lips ghosting over Connor's shoulder. "Clothes won't be necessary." Connor could feel Haytham's lips curl into a smirk. He couldn't help but smile himself.

The young man turned in his lovers arms. They stood chest to chest. Connor still had some growing to do, he was still a few inches shorter than Haytham. Connor reached up slightly to drape his arms around the man's shoulders.

"What are you waiting for," he purred in response. Haytham swiftly picked up the younger man and placed him on their bed. He sank right into the mattress. It was not large by any means, but, it was extremely comfortable.

Haytham undressed himself quickly and pulled Connor's towel from around his his. He licked his lips slowly, drinking in the sight of his lover below him. Connor spread his legs apart, his arms pulled away from his torso, allowing Haytham to see everything. The older man lowered himself, hovering over Connor. His lips brushed the young mans.

"Are you prepared?" Haytham asked. 

Connor shook his head. "I'll be alright." He said, rocking his butt against Haytham's hardening length. Haytham nodded, a low hum in his throat. He eased himself in slowly, watching Connor's face for any sign of discomfort. He listened intently, only greeted with soft moans, urging him to go on.

They moved together slowly, passionately. Their voices were low and quiet. Connor's moans and whimpers were for only Haytham, as were Haytham's to Connor.

When they finished, they laid together. Connor's face pressed into the crook of Haytham's neck.

"Haytham, would you sing to me?"

"Oh, Persia, Persia, if I can't be your prince, then I whisper, I'd like to leave you in my fingerprints. Persia, Persia, I might not be the one. I will whisper, until you tell me we're done. 

Oh, Persia, oh no. Oh, Persia, oh no. Oh, Persia, oh no. 

True love, I saw a poster for it. Now you love, someone else had bought it. I tried to trade, offer my regrets. He said you have to give it all, and nothing less. I said I'd try for you, please let me try for you. And this is far beyond what I thought I'd ever do. Please let me try.

Oh, Persia, Persia, if I can't be your prince, then I whisper, I'd like to leave you in my fingerprints. Persia, Persia, I might not be the one. I will whisper, until you tell me we're done. "

Connor fell fast asleep, his soft breaths blowing against the older man's neck. That in itself was his own lullaby.


End file.
